Another Kind of Storm
by Lalalackadaisy
Summary: For once, Spain is the one in need of comfort. Language warning.


Romano jumped as thunder crashed outside and practically threw his book, cursing as he realized he would have to get up to get it back. Stupid thunder, coming out of nowhere like that. And he had been so comfortable, too, curled up on the couch next to Spain- um, next to the fire with Spain annoyingly snuggling into his side like the codependent idiot he was.

Yeah. It was really grating on his nerves, but he wasn't going to be a completely heartless bastard and kick the guy off when it was clear he was falling asleep.

The plush quilt Spain had wrapped around his shoulders earlier dropped to the ground as Romano stood up, taking the moment to stretch and wince as blood resumed flowing through his legs and the arm Spain had been leaning on.

"Roma...?" Spain drowsily groped about for his missing pillow, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Just wait a freaking minute, I'm coming." Romano sighed and snatched up his book, noting how pleasant the warmth of the fire was on his back instead of his face, which was beginning to feel as if it was burning. He walked back to the couch, anyways, because he owed Spain for the dinner. A- And he definitely didn't enjoy being cuddled up with him like that, mind you!

Spain smiled happily when Romano returned, winding his arms around the Italian's waist and this time laying under his arm. He, too, stretched for a moment, reminding Romano of a cat with the way he arched his entire body for a few seconds and then took up the whole couch with his legs. With their new position, Romano couldn't help but notice how warm Spain was, pressed against him... in the way!

"Oi, idiot, I can't read if you do that."

"Mhmm..."

Asshole.

He decided to vocalize the sentiment.

"Asshole," Roman's obviously anger-filled (and definitely not the equivalent of a pet name by this point) words were punctuated by a smack to the head from his book, "Move."

"Ah, but, Roma-" Another deafening crack reached their ears - the storm must have been really close by, but Romano couldn't care enough to check outside - and Spain's voice hitched for a second. When he resumed speaking, it was a breathy, "Don't you like it when I hug you?"

The hot glow of the fire was turning Romano's face red as he scowled at the undesired visitor to his lap.

His angry reply was drowned out by a particularly noisy roll of thunder and Spain took that as the signal to bury his head into Romano's stomach, pushing up his shirt a little to nuzzle bare skin.

Romano groaned and kept reading, giving up and propping up his novel on Spain's head. If the idiot wanted the hardback corner digging into his skull, so be it.

xxx

Spain had been on the verge of falling into his dreams earlier, before Romano stood up and left him without a support, so he hadn't noticed the storm raging outside. Now, however, he was waking more and more with each stab of lightning, always accompanied by loud booming, and couldn't get back to sleep.

He swallowed nervously, holding Romano a little bit tighter. He wasn't afraid of storms, honestly, but...

Spain flinched yet again as more thunder cracked outside, unwittingly letting a little whimper escape.

"That's it!" Romano slammed his book down as dramatically as you could slam a book down onto a couch seat, tugging on Spain's hair roughly to get his attention.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Stop moving around, you're making me completely lose my concentration!"

Spain opened his mouth to protest that it wasn't his fault, but was cut off by a flash of lightning and dived under the blanket in preparation for the incoming noise, yelping.

Romano looked down in wonder. "Wait, you're... you can't possibly be scared of lightning, can you?"

Spain's voice was muffled as it came out against Romano's belly, causing Romano to almost giggle for a second as he was tickled. "No. What makes you think that?"

Another deep boom sent Romano's mind's eye back to the days of pirates, a time he had been allowed on Spain's own great armada- that _one_ time, when they had been fired upon and won. Spain hadn't cared in the slightest, panicky over anything that could have happened to Romano. He's sent Romano back home the next time they docked, and Romano had sulked, refusing to speak to Spain for a few days (of course, Spain hadn't been home, so he didn't know, but if he had been home, oh, how he would have regretted his actions!). Old stories Belgium had told him resurfaced, of England destroying Spain's armada, of Spain coming home battered and bleeding, of the unnatural wounds, the sort of jagged shapes representing death that only appeared on nations, that he had glimpsed that night. There had been no more pirating for the two after that, and something in Spain had changed. Something small, something Romano never saw, but something that had been there nevertheless.

He shivered and wrapped his arms around Spain's torso, awkwardly pulling him up into a real hug.

Spain had always been fearless in his mind, but maybe it was time to give him some comfort instead of receiving it time and time again.

Spain didn't make any obnoxious, inane comments like Romano expected, but hugged his Italy back, curling up to his side and laying his head under Romano's chin.

Romano averted his gaze and said nothing, leaning back on Spain and closing his eyes.

For the rest of the evening, Spain jumped helplessly every time he heard his imaginary cannons fire and the screams of drowning men echoed in his ears. However, he merely clutched at Romano, who still brought a smile to Spain's face when he started gently running his fingers through Spain's hair. Slowly losing focus of the world of the awake, they fell asleep by the dying fire.


End file.
